The Month Of The Twentyseven Knives
by chilly-a
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds out just how hot London summers run. Post GoF. Drc goes for scones, Drc looks for shade, Drc renders assistance to a damsel in distress, and Drc will be meeting up with a whole lot of knives. Featuring the delectable Miss Cho Chang.


**Title:** The Month Of The Twenty-seven Knives (Prologue/10)  
**Author name:** chilly_a  
**Category:** Action/Adventure, Romance  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Draco Cho meeting body  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling.  
  
  
  
  


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***Prologue***

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"Draco!" The girl screamed, "Quick –! Keep him here on the ground!" 

Draco Malfoy blinked. 

The man thrashing on the cobblestones managed to throw out a fist connecting with the girl's face, and, in a throw of arms and legs, she was on her back beside him, her clutchful of his shirt ripping off in her hand. The man tried to crawl away. The girl launched herself onto his feet and grabbed on. He kicked and flailed, wriggling back his torso, gasping, trying to beat her away. 

"_Draco!_" she screamed. 

"What?" Draco stared, his mouth open. 

The girl had flung herself on the man's back; one of her arms was around his neck and the other fist was pummeling at the back of his skull. Snarling, thrashing, the man had grabbed hold of her hair. With a cry, she tried to twist free. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder. He shrieked. She grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed his head down against the ground. There was a sickening crunch. The man stopped moving. Panting, the girl staggered up to her feet and looked around wildly. 

Draco stood, watching, his mouth open. 

He was standing on a little paved pathway in the park. It was around noon, and the sun shone down full and warm through the trees. 

That morning, the younger Malfoy had traveled by floo with his mother to the penthouse of one of her witch friends, Jezebel Dinklewurst, in London. They were there for tea. Narcissa and Jezebel had been close since their schoolgirl days together in Switzerland, at Madame Lycurgus' Finishing School For Young Ladies; the Dinklewursts had a son, too – Malcom, a nervous, twitching boy a year or two younger than Draco. 

As it turned out, however, Malcom had gone off on a last-minute visit to his fourth cousins.  
  
  


***

  
  


Over the scones and shortcake, the two witches had chatted about inane, womanly things. Draco sat, a tea cup in hand, his toes wriggling impatiently in his shoes. His eyes shifted, sourly, from the carefully-arranged coiffures across from him to the clock on the mantelpiece. The scones were a disgrace. Probably withered by Jezebel's perfumed breath in her blemishless kitchen as she intoned every fat-removing, calorie-reducing spell imaginable over them. He puckered his lips distastefully. Above the mantel, an enormous family portrait of the Dinklewursts hung, framed in gold. Romanius Dinklewurst glared out of the canvas, his black robes gathered at the waist in some kind of jeweled girdle, while Jezebel smiled synthetically to one side and, in between them, Malcom hunched, looking sick and very nervous. Draco sneered. 

Across from Draco, the conversation had grown more intimate. The two heads (blonde and blonder) were angled towards each other, and Jezebel had leaned over and whispered something in Narcissa's ear. Narcissa let out a shocked giggle. She whispered something back and Jezebel had continued into her ear, more excitedly. They giggled. 

".. but Draco..." Narcissa had waved a white hand. More whispering. 

The two witches had turned to look at him. 

From his seat on the sofa, Draco had looked back, his eyes narrowed. 

"Draco, my love," Narcissa had begun, in her high, listless voice. "This must be very dull for you. It's a pity Malcom isn't here to keep you company. Jezebel and I will be a while.. talking. Perhaps you might find something to occupy yourself with... outside?" 

"Outside where?" Draco had frowned suspiciously. 

Narcissa gestured vaguely towards a window. "Well.. out. Anywhere. We won't be going home till a little later. Jezebel and I will be... drinking tea... in the apartment. You could enjoy some time to yourself, outside –" 

"Outside in the _street_?" Draco choked, scandalized. "What, out in London? With dirty _Muggles_?" 

"Only for a little while, darling," Jezebel had broken in, oblivious to the venom rolling off Draco in waves. "As I always say: the next, best thing after killing Muggles is pretending they aren't there. You'll have a lovely time, while Narcissa and I, well, are busy." 

"I'm _not_ going outsi–" 

"And such a _pale_ child, too," Jezebel chirped, pursing her red lips. "Why ever is the boy such a nasty shade, Narcissa? Why, my Malcom might seem positively tanned beside him! A few hours of sunlight will do wonders for –" 

"A few _hours?!_" 

"I think there's a bookshelf," said Jezebel Dinklewurst, "By the door. Take a book or something with you, darling." 

Livid, Draco had shot a look of appeal at his mother. Narcissa smiled back, vapidly. "You can come back at four o'clock," Jezebel waved, "Or... later." The two witches had giggled again. 

_Unbelievable!_

_Just wait till father hears about this..._

"Why don't you take some of these scones with you, darling?" simpered Jezebel. 

So, following a long, fuming elevator ride (in which Draco had felt justified in stamping out a big, heel-shaped hole in the plush elevator carpeting), Draco had found himself out alone in a city street brimming with Muggles. Scowling, having no idea where to go or what to do, he had rounded the corner and crossed a few streets haphazardly. Everywhere he looked, people were talking and laughing. Men and women sauntered about in shorts and sleeveless blouses and other strange Muggle clothing. A spotted dog was defecating on the pavement, its owner standing by patiently. Outrageous. Simply outrageous. After a few minutes of trudging, Draco could no longer be sure he could find his way back to the Dinklewurst place. _Well, good for them_, he thought viciously. _If I'm lost, it'll be all mother's fault. Mother, and that Jezebel monstrosity. Whatever they were up to._

It was summer, though, and soon Draco was beginning to sweat in his hefty, ankle-length robes. His legs were beginning to tire, too. Holding on to his copy of _Dementia And Malevolence Through The Ages_ tightly, he looked around for a place to sit. 

It was then that he had spotted the park. 

When he had heard the girl scream out his name, he had wondered if the entire world was gone insane. The two figures were thrashing about on the ground like worms and the girl seemed to be packing quite a lot of punch into her blows for someone so slight. There was blood splattered on the cobblestones. He had recognized her, of course. It was Cho Chang, from Hogswart – that Ravenclaw seeker.  
  
  


***

  
  


Cho Chang had staggered up to her feet, looking about wildly. 

Now, she was pushing her way through the small crowd of people who had gathered around along the pathway, her eyes searching desperately. The people gasped and muttered, pointing down at the man with horrified interest. A few mothers were trying to pull away their children quickly. 

"Whoa..." said a little boy, his eyes big. 

"What's all this about?" An old lady demanded. 

"Are you alright, miss?" 

"Call the police..." 

".. help?" 

Shaking her head impatiently – her gaze locking with Draco's again for one, brief moment – Cho Chang was off on a limping sprint through the trees. 

Draco, realizing his mouth was still open, snapped it shut with a splutter. He took a half-step forward towards the body on the cobbles, then whirled around to gape, incredulous, after the disappearing girl. 

"_Cho...?!_ What –" Draco yelled after her. 

"Just sit on him!" And she was already gone. 

Scowling, Draco turned back to the unfortunate scene. _Insanity._ The crowd had thinned somewhat, but those who had remained had moved their stares onto _him_. A fellow with three nose rings and a tongue piercing came up. 

"You her friend, junior?" He asked. "She going to be coming back?" 

A tourist had pulled out his camera and was taking pictures of the prone man. 

"Are you," said the punk, lowering his voice, "Part of some kind of cult? Does she have an email address?" 

Draco had no idea what he was supposed to do. "Alright," He did his best impression of his father and said in the coldest, most authorative voice he could muster, "Everyone, bugger off. Just bugger off. Now." 

Soon, there was just him and the man on the ground. Draco shifted nervously from one foot to the other and peered around the park. No Cho Chang. _Was_ she coming back? Now that the shock was wearing off, irritation was rising quickly. _Simply outrageous._ He wondered if he should leave. After all, this had nothing at all to do with him. If Cho Chang liked to spend her days attacking men and acting like a total madwoman, what right did she have to drag him into it? It wasn't as if they even knew each other! He was only in the park because his mother and Jezebel Dinklewurst were doing god-knows-what in that penthouse and hadn't wanted a respectable, sterling wizard like himself to look on. Draco scowled. He tapped his shoe on the pathway. Blast the girl, he thought. Blast womenkind, in general. There was no bench around. For the umpteenth time, he stole a glance at the unconscious figure. 

Was he... _dead?_

The man didn't look particularly threatening now, stretched out as he was. He seemed to be of medium height, and he was dressed in a pair of old faded jeans and a black shirt. Where the shirt had been ripped, Draco could see some kind of tatoo inked on his back. The man's face was pressed against the cobblestones; blood was still oozing out slowly. His hair was brown. 

Remembering his book, Draco leafed through a few pages half-heartedly. Beyond the sentence _And when Heptunius Briddlefiend saw the goose, he tore out its wings, pulled out its intestines, burnt the carcass, and then, having tied a ribbon on it (with the intestines), sent the bird back to his adultering mistress_, nothing seemed to focus. Draco chucked a stone at a squirrel. He peered around. After what seemed like an infinity – just when he had decided he wasn't about to hang around any longer – he saw Cho Chang running across the grass towards him. 

She was running hard, one hand clasped over her ribcage. 

"Draco..." She panted. 

"Well, about time!" He burst out, furious, and relieved. 

Cho knelt down beside the man and put a trembling finger on his neck, checking for a pulse. "You have to... help me carry him." 

Draco gaped. "What?" 

Cho draped one of the limp arms over her shoulder and struggled, unsuccessfully, to lift the body up. She grunted beneath the weight. "We have to.. take him... there's no time. They're coming after us. There. Get his other arm –" 

This was too much. With a snarl, Draco hurled the book full force at her head. It struck with a resounding thud, and, crying out, she sat back on the ground. The man slumped forward, his face meeting the cobblestones again with a crack. It had been a bad, bad day. "Listen, _Chang_," Draco spat. He was almost frothing. "You knock him out. You carry him. Nice running into you. Have a good day!" 

Cho stared up at him, mouth open. She burst into tears. 

Uh... thought Draco. A couple of friendly birds chirped on a branch overhead and another squirrel was inching its way up the pathway. Dimly, he could hear some children laughing on the swings in the distance and, even more distant, the sound of cars on a London street. 

"Why is this happening?" Cho sobbed. "I don't know.. don't know what to do... I'm so sorry.." 

"Uh..." said Draco. 

He noticed, for the first time, how dreadful she looked. A gash had opened up her lip and chin, and her arm and knees were scraped and bleeding, too. The white t-shirt she had on over her shorts was criss-crossed with dirt stains. She looked very thin. And very tired. The sobs were coming out in great, heaving gasps. Her hair, which at school had always fallen down her back sleek and straight (Draco recalled off-handedly), now clung in clumps around her face. A sizable clump just above her left ear seemed to be missing. Ugly, green bruises were spreading over her forehead. 

For the life of him, Draco couldn't think of anything to say. 

He said, "You look horrible, Chang." 

Amidst her tears, Cho snorted out a laugh. 

"Thank you..." she gasped. 

The tears fell faster, even as hiccups of laughter erupted from her chest. Covering her eyes with her palms, she tried to regain her composure. 

Draco found himself forced to look away for no particular reason. He felt a twinge. She sure looked ugly when she cried. But he was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't go about carrying unidentified bodies out of parks and whatnot. And what was Cho up to? Was it – a sudden, sly shiver of brilliance – something that might be, potentially, _blackmail_ material? Interesting... Draco pondered. Peering at a tree trunk, he considered that it couldn't have been much later than one in the afternoon. Behind him, the sobs were beginning to quieten. 

Draco cleared his throat. 

Looking back at Cho, he sniffed sarcastically. "Well, for a Ravenclaw, I must say you aren't too smart. If I were you, next time I pick a fight, I'd come prepared with a wheel-barrow. And just so you know, I have to be somewhere by four o'clock." 

Cho started. She flashed him an astonished, grateful smile and nodded quickly. 

Rolling onto her knees, she winced and took a deep breath. "Alright," she said, in a surprisingly steady voice. She took another breath. "Put his arm around your shoulder. Where we'll take him... it's not too far. If he wakes up, just step back – I'll... deal with him." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Chang. Knuckles itching again already, aren't they?" 

With a few curses and grunts, the two managed to straighten up, the man braced between them. As they staggered off down the path towards the park gate, the man's limp shins dragging bumpily over the cobblestones, Draco saw a dog amble up to _Dementia And Malevolence_ back where it lay in the grass. The dog sniffed at the book. It raised a hindleg. 

Why, there you go, Mrs. Dinklewurst, he thought with glee. Good for you. Why, Draco having a lovely time.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**  
Next chapter, Who is the unconscious bub? What does Cho want from him and where is she leading them? Will Draco get back to the Dinklewursts' in time? _At all?_ More action and violence in London... 


End file.
